


in a minute there is time (for decisions and revisions)

by tavrincallas



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, M/M, and how the Hendollana relationship will change (if it changes), most of this fic will be rated T, mostly an introspection fic from Adam's POV, theoretical as it's also based on a presumption that Adam will be transferred out of Liverpool, there's also fluff guys don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tavrincallas/pseuds/tavrincallas
Summary: They’re older, so much older – and yet he still sees the Hendo from five, ten years ago, smiling brightly as if there were no worries for anything. Adam was naïve then – really, Hendo worries about everything, but sometimes Hendo’s laughter made it sound like everything will be okay.





	in a minute there is time (for decisions and revisions)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'; a poem which I feel encapsulates perfectly the current stagnancy/whirlwind that is Adam Lallana's life and career. 
> 
> Also heavily inspired by the novel by Hanya Yanagihara, 'A Little Life'.

They’re older, so much older – and yet he still sees the Hendo from five, ten years ago, smiling brightly as if there were no worries for anything. Adam was naïve then – _really,_ Hendo worries about _everything,_ but sometimes Hendo’s laughter made it sound like everything will be okay.

Adam knows that now.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam has always liked being alone – to have his own space, his own privacy. Rooming with Liverpool or England teammates on away games or international friendlies had been a character building experience – he loves all of them, but there comes a point when too much is too much, especially in the last few years when Adam rarely even gets called up anymore. Hendo had spent most of time with Milly in training and Trent in Russia anyway, and Adam had been thinking about leaving for a while. Especially since Ingsy left. And then Clyney.

He’s got little else to live for here, on this side of the Mersey.

Liverpool and the Three Lions – but _especially_ Liverpool – as a family, as colleagues, as friends – it was like any other relationship. Why wouldn’t it be any different with Hendo? It had taken perseverance and carefulness, to keep at least twenty people under the same roof at Melwood, at Anfield.  It felt like walking on eggshells, when Hendo and Adam had been roommates together on away games or friendlies. No one had made the extra effort – out of being cautious, of being found out, of being kicked out for even thinking about it. The unfairness of it all repulses Adam – the fact that bromances were highly promoted and heavily indulged in public, but would be a scandalous offence if something else; something _unspeakable_ were to happen in real life.

It had been harder to look at Hendo in the last few years, so Adam decided to put a barrier between them. If he’d stayed longer, Adam could have blown up – and in retrospect, it was his own fault for being the kind of person that he is, for not daring to question Hendo about his intentions, about Hendo’s fluctuating acts of caring and not caring, if they had meant anything more. He’d been annoyed at Hendo then, but he’d been more annoyed at himself.

Most of the time it had felt like Adam was the one being clingy, for citing Hendo’s name far too many times in interviews even when there was no need for it.

But then Russia happened, and a massive rift had opened up between them.

It had been easier after that, after he had managed to convince himself that whatever he’d felt for Hendo was a spur-of-a-moment thing; a confusion. Hendo had spent more time with Milly then, and Adam felt more comfortable. The pain was still there, but he’d managed to numb it down.

He felt better.

So when Klopp informed him that he’s free to transfer out of Liverpool, Adam took his chance to leave. Hendo still drove him from Knutsford to Melwood on training days in the last few weeks before Adam left for real, but there was nothing left to be said. Adam had joked that Hendo will have to find someone to share the private executive room with the Henderson/Lallana name at Anfield, when Hendo just grunted and unlocked the car door for Adam to leave.

But Adam _had_ to leave. It wasn’t because he hated Liverpool – he would never do that.

He needed to leave, in order to clear his head.

It was for the best that Hendo doesn’t know what he actually feels.

 

* * *

 

True to Adam fashion, he still keeps the home at Knutsford years after he left Liverpool to play at a different club. Maybe it was wishful thinking that he would return, but his family had loved it here, Emily and the kids. Em had told him to “stop brooding and just drive up there at the weekend for old times’ sake”, so Adam did. At the red lights, Adam had looked out the window at familiar old sights before sighing and leaned back on the seat of his car. His bones creak, he’d felt so tired – and worried about his impending return to this city he had once embraced as his own. It wasn’t Southampton, it wasn’t Bournemouth – and at times it felt less forgiving, but there was something about the North that kept him at ease. In these moments he wondered about Milly who’s still soldiering on, of Robbo and Trent.  

He thinks of Hendo.

When the SUV pulls up right in the parking lot, it is already half past noon. He walks up to the door, slides his key-card and punches the numbers at his door, the same four digits from two years ago, pushes the door to get inside.

The light is on.

He is greeted by the sound of two women arguing in tears, blaring loudly from the television. It is a daytime talk show that has going on for years, but Adam has never had the time to watch it. Lying still on the couch is a familiar tall figure, his frame too oversized for the two-seater, dressed in an eye-popping bright yellow hoodie that probably was as old as Albie, his legs dangling from the armrest.

The man is sound asleep. 

Adam purposely lets go of his heavy backpack on the floor with a loud thump.

Hendo wakes up with a start.

“You’re home!”

The grin on the younger man’s face is too dumb; Adam wishes he could punch some sense into Hendo, but he doesn’t. Instead, Hendo leaps up first and pulls Adam into a strong embrace. “Sorry I fell asleep while waiting for you.”

Adam has never asked him to.

He reminds himself to text Em and asked if this was her plan, to let Hendo wait for him like this, when it was the last thing he needed.

Hendo orders Adam to not move from the couch, to get some rest, while he fusses in the kitchen to heat the chicken he has bought as takeaway from Nando’s. Fumbling with the remote control, Adam keeps clicking and switching the TV channels until he finds a film that looks interesting and slides even deeper into the comfy couch. His attention, however, isn’t firmly captured by the film playing on screen. His gaze latches on the PS4 controller on the table, one that Hendo always uses when he comes around to play.

The books on the shelf are interspersed between his and Hendo’s, and he doesn’t even remember how they got there, or who arranged them. There is a guitar on one side of the room, and its empty case lying haphazardly on the other. That coat stand by the lamp – it isn’t Adam’s either, but it has been there for years, and Adam doesn’t even remind Hendo to bring it home anymore – not when Adam has started to use it, too.

How long has it been since he has last seen Hendo? And how natural is it, for him to fall back into this familiarity with Hendo that he doesn’t even realize he has missed until now? The unremarkable, all-too-routine moments where nothing extraordinary is happening, but Hendo’s absence is irreplaceable.

Adam ignores Hendo’s advice of sitting on the sofa and pads quietly into the kitchen, instead. Hendo is at the sink, his back facing Adam, an apron tied around his waist, his sleeves rolled to his forearms. Secretly Adam is glad that Hendo still comes here from time to time while he’s away, just to make sure that the place remains neat and tidy. If there’s one thing he trusts Hendo with, it’s the immaculate cleanliness bordering on OCD. There had been nights when he first moved into this house – and he would stand here, in the kitchen, marvelling at the fact that this was his first own private space that he had bought instead of rented, that he could build a family life here and stay forever.

He thought he would be able to cope with leaving Merseyside, and he had coped with it well, except that he reverted back to the habit of not replying to social media messages and consistently being out of the loop, only concentrating on work and training and games.

Hendo had been worried about him then, and video-called him all the way from Munich– with a frown on his face, asking him if he was okay.

Adam had said he was fine, before telling Hendo he was busy and hung up.

It is the same frown that Hendo wears now, as he turns to face Adam and dries his hands with a towel. “Didn’t I tell you to wait outside? I wanted to surprise you.”

“With what?” Adam asks, just as his gaze falls upon a small ice-cream cake on the table. “Happy belated birthday, Adam,” Hendo says, now with a bright smile.

Adam stills, his grip on the edge of the table tightens. He doesn’t deserve any of this. This man, whom he always comes back to, time and time again, no matter how far away Adam has travelled. How content Adam feels to watch his stoic face when he talks, and how quickly it becomes animated when he laughs— the way his body moves, his deep voice when he utters Adam’s name – and how he patiently waits for Adam to finish speaking, how attentive he is – before it is his turn. The way he smiles – and how Adam could differentiate between Hendo’s professional smile and his genuine, unadulterated, _happy_ laughter. It forms slowly across Hendo’s lips, his eyes simultaneously lighting up when he sees Adam, because Hendo misses him – and how delighted he is to have Adam back.

It makes Adam feel giddy with want – and so ludicrously happy to know that he is _wanted,_ that someone misses him. It makes him want to leap into Hendo’s arms and embrace him, kiss the lopsided grin off his face, the faint dimples on his cheeks, tell Hendo he misses him too – but Adam’s logic takes over, so he touches Hendo’s forearm instead, aware that his heart rate is skidding off the roof, sweat pooling between his clothes.

“You’re tanned again. Remember when there was a pap photo of you leaving the tanning booth and the lads just couldn’t stop laughing because an article about a holiday tan came out about the same time?” Hendo teases.

“And you’ve got more frown lines on your massive forehead,” Adam replies, aiming for casual but his voice comes out broken. “Is that actual grey hair that I see?” he squints, and tries to touch Hendo’s hair, but the taller man ducks before Adam could reach his target.

“Noooooo!” Hendo tilts his head away as he scurries about the kitchen, while Adam chases him to get a better look. When Hendo finally relents, Adam has him in a loose headlock – that isn’t even tight but Hendo yields to Adam anyway– and lets Adam thread his fingers in Hendo’s hair, unstyled and ungelled. “You’ve got a couple of grey hair,” Adam whispers, “—here,” he points, “—and here,” he says, where Hendo couldn’t see. He lets go of the chokehold and Hendo shrugs.

“I guess looking after the lads is taking a toll on me, after all. It’s shaved off ten years of my life,” he says, now all stern and severe, signifying the return of Captain Hendo. “Milly and Virgil help a lot,” he adds, after a few seconds. “But they’re not _you._ ”

 

* * *

 

Coming back after two years reminds Adam of how much he loves this house – even if it also serves as a reminder of his own loneliness, sometimes. The first night of being back – even the lumpy sofa is cozy, even the hard mattress that is unslept in feels comfortable. Even the neighbour’s car alarm wailing from three streets away that prevents him from staying asleep is bearable; even the pigeons disturbing his laundry hanging out to dry on the balcony seems cute. It reminds him that this is his life, that he had chosen to live here once but had left, that he is welcomed back, even if he’s been away for too long.

Hendo spends the first night on Adam’s couch, wrapped in Adam’s blanket and Arthur’s old Olaf soft toy cuddled in his arms. Adam has even snapped a photo of a sleeping Hendo on his phone, in case he needs to blackmail Hendo sometime in the future. On the morning Hendo has to leave for training at Melwood, he asks Adam when they will meet again.

“Soon,” Adam says – a bit too callously.

Hendo grits his teeth. “Why does it feel like goodbye? This isn’t goodbye, is it?”

“I’ll call you,” Adam promises, although time has proven before that he never does.

“Text me,” Hendo says instead, his eyes glinting in the dimmed hallway light– but Adam pushes him out of the door anyway, unrelenting. “Go, you’re already late for your big meetup with the gaffer!”

Hendo jogs out of the door, before coming up with a reply. The message is loud and clear— “Text me!” – coming all the way from down the corridor, although the owner of the voice is nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll text you, now please shut up, would you?” Adam shouts, only catching the whiff of Hendo’s cologne when he opens the door.

In return, Adam could only hear Hendo’s deep laughter, from the end of the corridor.

 

* * *

 

On the second night, Adam meets up with Milly and Klopp at a Japanese restaurant for dinner. When Milly leaves for the loo, the silence that falls over the table feels too awkward. Adam has not felt this awkward with Klopp for ages, not since the first time since Klopp came to Liverpool to be their gaffer and especially not since Adam made a decision to leave. “Hendo’s looking very well,” Adam says, when Klopp continues to sip on the froth on his beer and pretends that he has nothing to tell Adam at all. “Thank you.”

He remembers their conversation a few weeks before Adam left. Adam has asked Klopp to keep an eye on Hendo, because he knew that Hendo doesn’t really say much even when he’s taken too many things on his shoulders. “I know he’s the Captain and all, but he could be an absentminded idiot sometimes,” Adam has said. “It will be years before I have any reason to see him again – and who knows what’ll happen in that time.”

“You really care for him, huh?” Klopp had smiled faintly.

Adam had only shrugged, back then. He refused to read deeper into whatever Klopp was suggesting. “He’s my friend,” Adam had said, afterwards.

Sitting here with Klopp, now, Adam replays the words Klopp had told him, many nights ago – “A friend is someone who is better than you, and sometimes it’s the most difficult thing to distinguish – there will be people who is smarter, cooler than you, but not better. A friend is someone who is kinder, someone who is able to forgive you, someone who can teach you more about yourself. A friend is someone you can trust, and someone who trusts you.”

“I trust Hendo,” Adam had confessed. “I just don’t trust myself.”

He still doesn’t trust himself, afraid that Hendo is only sticking up for him because of the club, because their families have known each other for a long time now they could practically be in-laws, because of the fans, because of the managerial politics and contracts and what the press will say. He has shown time and time again that he could be independent, that he’s worked his ass off, despite his injuries. His confidence is just a façade to hide the fact that he’s an impostor. He doesn’t deserve these successes, they have all come too much and too fast.

As was his downfall, which had led to him being left out of the national team.

Which led to him leaving Liverpool.

He still remembers the time when he gets so shell-shocked by the throngs of screaming fans at Anfield for the first time, and how Hendo had his back in the first few years he was at Liverpool. In the following years, when he wasn’t even picked in the starting line-up nor named as a sub, he couldn’t help think of himself as a fraud. He wonders if that’s the memory that Hendo has of him now, of a tragic midfielder who keeps getting injured time after time again and will never play for a top-tier club, ever.  

Hendo used to be the one who drove Adam up to his house after training, while he plugged his phone to the car stereo and beckoned Adam to loudly sing along, ignoring the fact that they’re completely butchering the songs. With Hendo, there is no need to hide— there is no need to fear of acting like a pair of silly adults, the way he never was as a child.

His youth was spent at Bournemouth, Southampton – but his most formative years _must_ be at Liverpool – and as he grows up surrounded by fame and success, meeting with different acquaintances day in and day out, it dawns on Adam how very few people he could stand to be around with for more than a few days. And yet with Hendo, Adam wouldn’t mind spending time with him for years, despite their stark personality differences.

Klopp only shrugs. “At the end of high school, university, whatever – everyone believed that they would stay as friends forever – but realistically, for most people, that won’t happen. I’ve told Hendo this, and I’ll tell you now – the people you dated or slept with – they’re not necessarily the people you would want to spend your days living with.”

 _‘I love Em and I’ve married her—’_ Adam wants to say, _“—and Hendo’s married Bec and I’m sure he loves her too.”_  But he keeps quiet as Klopp continues along.

“I know you’re a smart boy, Adam – and I think after years of being in this footballing business, you’d have learned and accepted this by now. The difficulty is figuring out the most important thing to you, despite your family, despite your career – and if you’re lucky, in time it will become clear to you. If you’re lucky, you’ll be given enough time to look for it.”

Klopp‘s expression turns wistful, he looks as though he has seen too much and does not wish to relive the bitter memories, does not wish Adam to know. “If you’re looking for a _soulmate–_ ,” Klopp begins, but Adam cuts him off – “I _don’t_ ,” he says pointedly, but Klopp ignores him anyway. “If you’re in a relationship – no matter what kind – the romantic, the filial, the friendships – they would only provide some things, because life won’t let you have everything. In movies, you will find someone who will give you everything you need, but there is no singular person in this world who will give you everything you want. You’ll end up with nothing, if you keep pursuing the impossible.”

 

* * *

                                           

When Adam was twenty five, he fell in love – or so, he thought. He might have fallen in love with the idea of love, of having someone else than your family to care for, to spend the rest of his life with. His love was unrequited, suppressed – before it transformed into something else, something more tangible and more precious.

Years before this, when he was eighteen, he thought he had fallen in love with a girl at school, before he realized that the feeling was just similar to friendship. He's with Emily now, and he loves her - but the whole idea of caring for someone, of loving someone – has he become too old, too pessimistic, too misanthropic? He thinks of Hendo, and he wonders why a romantic relationship is deemed better than friendship. He thinks about his friendship with Hendo, and while their relationship was initially bound by fate, by a contract, pulled by the strings of management – but at the end of the day, now – at least, they don’t need physical attraction or sexual drive to stay together. It isn’t even financial – Hendo and Adam are independent about their income as it is, and similarly their properties are separate. Their ongoing relationship is a shared agreement outside of their families, outside their careers, outside Klopp and Liverpool and the Three Lions. There is no way to classify this union, as if he could mindlessly tick what his relationship status is on some census form.

Friendship with Hendo is being there through his rare miseries, and understanding when Hendo is feeling miserable, because he will never admit them to the public – will never show his miserable face to the rest of his colleagues. It is sitting with him through his goal scoring drought or dwindling passing rates or even reduced game times.  Even if Hendo’s called Milly or Dejan first and they were unable to help, even if he’d called Adam last – “I don’t want to bother you, I know you’re busy,” Hendo has said. “You know you can call me if you need help any time, don’t you?” Adam has chided in return. Hendo could only laugh in embarrassment – and Adam loves seeing Hendo’s pale cheeks turn crimson, warm underneath his fingertips; the surprised look that Hendo throws at him afterwards.

It is cheering Hendo on when people make cruel comments on social media, on his Instagram posts, on his performance on the pitch. It is being proud when Hendo gets praised by football pundits or rival managers and players. It is feeling comfortable about doing nothing at all with Hendo, when Adam usually gets jittery about doing nothing at all with other people. It is replying to his drunken texts at three a.m., even when Adam is bleary-eyed from sleep – because even if Adam never replies on group chats, he will respond if it’s Hendo, in private.

Friendship with Hendo is the honour of being there at his gloomiest moments, knowing full well that Adam could be gloomy around Hendo in return. Adam wants to be the one Hendo turns to for advice, because he knows he could give them. He knows he would be able to help, even if for a fraction. He knows Hendo would appreciate him.

When Adam was twenty-five, he fell in love with Hendo – or the idea of falling in love with Hendo. Five, ten years might have passed – and Adam is still in love with Hendo, although he could live like this forever. He loves Hendo, and he wonders if it is possible for him to love anyone as much as he loves Hendo.

It’s because it’s Hendo – the fact that Adam felt like he’s known him all his life, and Hendo – the first friend he’d made at Liverpool, is the first person to see him beneath whatever scary exterior he’d managed to exude on that first day. Hendo is someone who knows him too well; to see him beneath whatever façade he has to wear on a particular day, in front of different people.  

This is so much better than a romantic relationship – one that transcends usual friendships and being casual acquaintances; this is them conceiving a new form of relationship, one that is difficult to codify, further away from the pitch or training grounds or even their dressing rooms, not even in their homes, behind closed doors. This is far too mundane to be immortalized in fiction, as perceived by their fans, or by newspaper articles. Being with Hendo in these private moments feel like the _truth_ – and it is less coercing than scoring and celebrating in front of the Kop.

 

* * *

 

There is a difference between being alone and being lonely, and Adam, of all people, should be able to differentiate between the two. Tonight, he wonders if he should have felt lonely at all, if not for the conversation he had with Klopp. When he gets back from dinner, he is greeted by a silent, cold home – save for the hum of the floor heating. The dip from Hendo’s weight is still apparent on the couch – and something suddenly curdles in Adam’s stomach, before it gets pulled up into his chest; an unspeakable pain that clams up his entire body.

_Is this what loneliness is supposed to feel like?_

Adam takes a fissuring breath before fishing out his phone from his pocket, scrolling down the screen until he reaches Hendo’s number – his thumb hovering between the _‘Call’_ and _‘Message’_ button.

Hendo has said ‘Text me’, but Adam decides to defy Hendo and presses the call button, instead. He is going to blame the alcohol in his system, later.

What he doesn’t expect is for Hendo to answer at the first ring, that familiar ‘Hullo?’ with a surprised Northern inflection at the end of the line, as if in disbelief that Adam would call him first.

“Are you busy?” Adam asks, with his best, determined-actor-and-model voice.

“No – I’m just at home, on my PS. What’s up?”

“Can I come round?”

 

* * *

 

What Adam is about to do will potentially destroy his career, his life, everything he has worked for. In school he hasn’t worked hard academically at all, and he’s not one of those smart kids who get top grades and end-of-year prizes. He’s always loved football, to run a hundred yards and show off his skills, but he hadn’t inserted fame and popularity into the equation. In his parents’ time, a secretary’s son would be a teacher, and a teacher’s son would be a doctor. Things were simple. When he’d told his parents that he’d wanted to be a footballer, they’d went along with it, thinking that his dreams would eventually wither away when he realized that he was at best, mediocre.

Was he brave or foolish for agreeing to join Liverpool? Why did he work so hard and lapped up all the incredulous hardships he had been through, in order to be successful? Even then, it wasn’t the end. There was no end to all this – they’d kept worrying about winning, getting trophies, being on top of the league. A footballer’s career depends on so many confounding factors. When Ingsy and Clyney left, it sure felt like the end for them, but they had kept going. And Adam had moved on, too. All of them have kept going, and they don’t know when to stop.

He knows for a fact that success makes people boring. People are bored of hearing of footballers’ names all the time, but some deserve to be on top, like Mo and Bobby. Success means having to work harder to keep being successful – and not stopping, or risk failing.

Every day Adam waits for things to fall apart, for someone somewhere to come up with a scandal that will tear him apart, for his day of failure. Now he’s beyond thirty – and he is tired of waiting, of having people to make decisions for him. The first big decision he’d made was leaving Southampton; then leaving Liverpool – but that was inevitable.

This is different.

When Hendo lets Adam into his home, he could only sit on the chair that Hendo has directed him to and not say anything. Hendo watches him worriedly, before handing out a bottle of mineral water – “The last out of the fridge!” he offers, before taking a seat opposite Adam and nudges him with his knee.

“Look at our lives,” Adam begins. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it? I should have stayed in Southampton, or even Bournemouth and studied to become a nurse, or something. If I hadn’t pursued football – if I hadn’t met you, I would have still admired you, I think. Because you’d still be as successful as you are now.”

“Are you drunk, Adam?” Hendo says, alarmed – and inches closer, touching Adam’s forehead with the back of his hand, checking his temperature.

“I’m not drunk – I wouldn’t have driven here so fast if I were drunk. I’m not that stupid, Hendo,” Adam slaps Hendo’s hand away.

Hendo looks downright offended. “Then, why are you saying all this?”

“An epiphany,” Adam shrugs, before shaking his head. “I was basically undistinguished, and yet I was given a chance to live a life to make millions by kicking a ball about, to travel to different cities every day, to have all my needs fulfilled by countless PAs and managers, worshipped almost like a demigod. At the end of a working day, when I’m alone – I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m so afraid of losing myself, when there’s no one there to find me.”

Now, Hendo looks genuinely concerned, crouching closer to Adam and reaching for his hands, clasping Adam’s in his. “I’m here. I’m _here,_ Adam and you know where to find me. Fuck, Adz, how long have you been feeling this way?”

“I can’t even remember – but being away for two years, and coming back here, now – it’s overwhelming,” Adam clutches his head in his hands, gazing firmly at the crusts of mud on his trainers. “But it’s not the real reason why I came.”

Hendo raises a quizzical brow.

“I never had the chance to say thank you – for waiting for me, for looking after the house while I was away. I never had the chance to say thank you for being my friend. It’s a miracle that you’re still here, that you’re listening to me rambling right now.” Adam doesn’t even realize that he has been shaking when he says all that in one breath, until Hendo moves closer towards him.

“What the fuck are you on about, Adam?” Hendo snaps. “Have there been trolls who have been throwing hate messages at you? Tell me their names and I’ll find them and hunt ‘em down.”

“There’s been no hate messages. It’s just my head playing games with me – and my sudden need of constant reassurance,” Adam mutters. “I’m sorry if I’ve abandoned you. If I’ve abandoned the club when I left.”

Hendo grits his teeth. For a moment it doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything, but then he reaches out and squeezed Adam’s knee. “I’m sorry, Adam.  If I’ve been ignoring you.” He groans loudly, before shaking his head in frustration. “I didn’t mean to. It’s been a difficult few years without you here.”

Adam looks up at Hendo, surprised – but Hendo keeps on going. He rarely keeps going, barely could string three sentences together at a time, but tonight he does—with a passion and flare that Adam only sees when Hendo’s riled up about the team messing up, or when the ref made stupid decisions. “You don’t owe us anything. You don’t owe us accomplishments, or fealty, or fondness, or allegiance. What happened— we’ve never thought that you would leave us. Other people might not see it, but you’re my friend first. My _best_ friend.”

To calm himself, Adam attempts to take a deep breath, but he ends up shuddering, instead. “It’s an honour, Hendo. I am so happy that you’ve chosen me, out of how many millions of people on this Earth. I take pleasure in my friendships, especially with you – especially if it’s you. And I don’t know if you know, but I’ve missed this so much.”

“Well,” Hendo tilts his head and has the audacity to look peevish, ears and neck turning red at the same time, “I thought I’d never open up to someone either, but here I am. I thought I’d never sit down and let you read me like an open book, but here I am. I’ve missed this too,” he scratches the back of his head. And then, without looking at Adam, he says, “I love spending time with you because I love you.”

Adam’s eyes widen— firstly because Hendo never says those words, and secondly – because of the layered meaning behind those words. “I love you,” Adam repeats, gently, as if fearing if he’d said it any louder he’d be captured and executed.

“I love _you,_ ” Hendo whispers his affirmation – in a softer tone, kinder, so achingly sweet it makes Adam’s teeth hurt. “I love you, Adam. Why does it take you this long to understand?”

“I was scared. I was an idiot,” Adam confesses. “I was afraid that it was all a joke, that you were just joking with me –and even if it were true – what if everyone else knows? The fans, the media, our clubs? We’re fucked.”

“To them, we’re still friends. The best of friends. There’s nothing we haven’t done together that other couples haven’t done. We’ve slept with each other, on the same bed, in hotel rooms. We’ve seen each other naked, yeah?” Hendo recounts, this time gaining confidence with each syllable that he utters. “Granted we’ve never kissed, and you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that with you – if you’ll allow me, but that’s ok,” he frowns. “And what is the difference between friendship and being in a relationship anyway, eh? How long have we known each other? It feels like forever to me, it feels like we will always be together, it feels like we’re immortal – through all the ups and downs we’ve been through.”

Adam silently considers, then: “I want to kiss you. Can I?”

“What kind of a stupid question is that?” Hendo replies, before moving swiftly and presses his lips gently against Adam’s. It is a chaste, square kiss – the kind of pecks Adam gives his own kids, so when he opens his eyes, Hendo is already laughing at the frowning face that he is making.

“It’s a horrible first kiss,” Adam complains.

“This isn’t the movies,” Hendo manages to retort, before Adam takes matters into his own hands and rectifies their second, third and fourth kisses in succession.

 

* * *

 

Adam has perhaps achieved impossible things, according to Klopp’s definition, in one single night. He has done this many times – of lying in bed next to Hendo, but this time, he is determined to make every moment count. They try to stay awake, to recount every experience they have shared together, to make up for the lost time they have wasted going around in circles, in a few fleeting hours.

“I need to go pee,” Adam mumbles, when he tries to move but Hendo’s arm prevents him from leaving.

“Five more minutes,” Hendo responds, tightening his grip around Adam’s waist.

“Mmhm,” Adam nods, and snuggles his head underneath Hendo’s chin. “Five more minutes,” he agrees, murmuring into Hendo’s chest, his mouth feels cottony from sleep.

He slides one hand underneath the fabric of Hendo’s shirt, splaying a palm on Hendo’s back – but doesn’t venture far. It stays there, waiting for permission, waiting for rejection.

“Hold me,” Hendo mumbles into the crown of his head, so Adam does.

 

* * *

 

Nothing much has changed since they declared their love for one another, except that maybe Hendo has officially moved into Adam’s usually unlived house in Knutsford, in spite of his things already in Adam’s home, including his clothes in the wardrobe and the extra toothbrush in the bathroom. No one suspects anything, and even if they do, no one says anything – yet.

Only a few people are aware of the true nature of their relationship – Rebecca and Emily included, and when they found out they merely rolled their eyes and thought, “How on earth did it take this long?” This also includes Milly and Robbo, and Klopp— who only muttered, “Finally!” when Hendo told him – but not anyone else in the club, let alone the media.

They remain as affectionate as Adam and Hendo in public always have been, without drawing too much attention to themselves. There’s nothing obvious at all – their social media accounts have been filled with nothing but professional silence – but even if fans bump into them outside of work, no one questions them, because they’ve been seen before, countless of times. If anything, it only made Adam bolder, it only made him want to be the one who initiates contact with Hendo, instead of the other way around. Never mind that they’re both in their thirties. Adam thinks he could continue doing this, even in his forties, fifties – for as long as he’s allowed to live and share a life with Hendo.

He tries to be kind to everything he sees— and in everything he sees, he sees Hendo. 

“Five more minutes,” Hendo will say on those rare lazy mornings and holds Adam’s hand, refusing to let him go. Adam will climb back into bed, under the blankets and rest his head on Hendo’s chest, enjoying the rise and fall with every breath that Hendo takes. After his five minutes are up, Adam will tickle Hendo into waking up, and while Hendo showers Adam would make their breakfast.

These are the liberties that they get on their days off, if they get to spend it together. Some days are busier than others, when Adam has to go to training at five a.m., or when Hendo returned from his flight from Europe at three a.m., and doesn’t wake up until noon. Some weeks they don’t see each other at all, because Adam lives on the other side of the country and Hendo’s away on international duty. When they meet, they still argue over the littlest of things – like where the canned food should be kept, or how Adam should fold his socks. They argue over more serious things, like the complicated relationships they interweave with Em and Rebecca in the fold, and what they should tell their kids, their close friends, their parents.  

Some days, they talk about silly, unachievable things, like going on public transportation like normal people, without being recognized and hunted down, like they used to when they were younger. To experience and moan about cramped space during peak hours, or to just stare at the Mersey when they cross the river, enjoying the rattling of the vehicle as they move. To watch the sun filter through the windows, casting shadows over people’s faces. Hendo secretly loves to imitate everyone and everything (even if this doesn’t translate well if he has to do it in front of a camera) and Adam misses getting rides with Hendo, even if for a silly little thing like hearing him hum the musical jingle that heralds each stop, or the announcer’s voice informing the passengers where they are.

Some nights Adam lets Hendo explore his body, tracing every outline, every ridge and curve, with his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue. Some nights Hendo lets Adam do the same to him – and some nights, they do it to each other. There has never been a rule about who should be in control, although most nights it is Hendo surrenders everything to Adam, or sometimes, most days. There has never been a rule about how often they should fuck, or make love, or make out – but Hendo and Adam have always been comfortable even without that kind of intimacy, because they’ve understood from day one that their relationship has never been based around that in the first place.

Some nights Adam wakes up from nightmares and forgets that he is at home with Hendo, he forgets who he is, he forgets what he is worth.  “Where am I?” he asks, desperate, and then, “Who am I?” And then he hears, so close to his ear as if the voice comes from inside his own head, Hendo’s gruffly whispered prayer. “You’re Adam Lallana. You are my closest, dearest friend. You’re the brother of Natalie Lallana. You’re the friend of Milly and Ingsy and Robbo. You’re Emily’s husband, Arthur and Albie’s dad. You’re Sharon and David’s son.”

“You’re from Bournemouth. You have a home here with me, in Knutsford, in Liverpool.”

“You’re a talented midfielder, you’re a hardworking player. You’re a cook and a baker and I love your peach tarts. You have a beautiful voice, though you rarely sing anymore. You write me lovely messages when I’m away, although you never tell them to my face. You’re the best listener, you give great advice. You love your art, and your craft. You’ve been through a lot to get here, to where you are now. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again, and you’re so much better than me."

"You’re Adam, Adz, Llama. But to me, you were always you, and I love you.” 

 

* * *

 

Klopp doesn’t usually go on social media, though he has proxies and keeps up to date with all that is coming and going around him. One of these days he worries about his Captain, and one of his ex-players. Adam had always been called a teacher’s pet – and it has a negative connotation. But what could he do when he’s fond of Adam (still is), and Hendo, and seeing the both of them together was like magic?

Neither Adam nor Hendo update much on Instagram these days, but Klopp is surprised when Milly posts something that catches his eye. It’s a photo of Hendo, his face and body partially turned away from the lens, but one could still see way his lips are upturned in a genuine smile. Klopp’s seen it before, many times – but he’s also lucky because he’s seen that particular smile when it was captured on camera, because Klopp was there when Milly took the photo. He knows what Hendo was smiling at – or whom. He knows who it was that had put that smile there, who it was that made Hendo happy.

And then he scrolls down to Milly’s caption.

It’s _“Hendo, listening to Adz telling a story”_ , and it all makes perfect sense.

Klopp hopes they’re both ok, wherever they are.

_Wherever they will be._

 

* * *

 

_end_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sad.


End file.
